


The Offer

by openmouthwideeye



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openmouthwideeye/pseuds/openmouthwideeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's only two ways out of here: one's through the door, the other's through me. --"Beautiful Lasers," Lupe Fiasco</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Offer

**Author's Note:**

> I'm traveling and have no time to do WEH justice, so of course I said "Shuffled challenge: accepted." This was my 2nd Shuffled song. I'm roughly halfway through my 1st song, but this one wanted to get written, so . . . [Beautiful Lasers](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Beautiful+Lasers+2+Ways+feat+MDMA/3IBgAq?src=5) by [Lupe Fiasco](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/lupefiasco/beautifullasers2ways.html).

Jaime Lannister had resolved to shake down the Spider. Cersei could fuck whomever she liked, but his father was dead and his brother had bolted, and Jaime would be damned if he lost his entire family to the Family name. Only a fool would trust the whispers at the Whispers, but he was past the point of caring. If the spider web splintered and frayed and left Jaime with sticky fingers . . . well, his left hand was shit anyway.

But the Spider must’ve been informing on the Lions to Littlefinger—or Littlefinger to the Thorns—because the only bartender at Crackclaw Pub was Nimble Dick.

Dick flinched when Jaime strode into the bar, shifty eyes tracking the Kingpin Slayer to a nearby barstool. The fink’s grimy, skeletal hands wrung the dishtowel he been using to wipe the counter, but he kept talking to the man at the bar as if Jaime wasn’t there.

Jaime glared sourly at the rat to keep from grimacing at his prosthetic. Gold plated bionics like they were in the fucking Godfather. ‘ _In service to the Family,’ my ass._

“Upper class.” The patron hunched over the bar, muttering into his beer. “Thirteen, with blue eyes and auburn hair.”

Jaime snorted, thinking of the snapshot on his phone: a cute redhead clutching his nephew’s arm at Myrce’s birthday party. Was there anyone _not_ looking for Sansa Stark?

The guy glanced over, carefully unconcerned. Cagey.

Jaime did a double take. It wasn’t a man at all, but a woman so enormous she could have given the Hound a run for his money. ‘Hard on the eyes’ would have been an understatement. Freckled and muscled and – _fuck_ – at least 6’4”. She must’ve been molded from Gorgon slag to get a face like that.

_And young. She’s barely older than the girl she’s hunting._

Her jaw set in a show of disinterest, but when she turned back to Nimble Dick, her voice dropped. “Have you seen her?”

The bartender stared suspiciously. “Who wants to know?”

She glanced back at Jaime—tried to pretend she hadn’t—and lowered her voice to the mere suggestion of sound. He picked out the word ‘cousin’ and rolled his eyes. PD had been running that play since the Lions had shoved the Dragons out of the Landing. 15 years, and the script was still as shit as the system.

“Might’ve been I seen her.” Dick rolled the words around his mouth, as tight-lipped as the butch cop was convincing. “What’s in it for me?”

“A good word with the Lioness.”

Was this the woman’s first damn job, or were simple concepts like hierarchy beyond her?

Nimble Dick squinted, eyeing the undercover cop. His gaze slid down the bar, tracing the discolored path that years of beer mugs had worn into the wood. Jaime watched him weigh his options. Was it better to cut a deal or pop a cap in Joanie Law’s ass? Sweat dotted Dick’s brow. The girl’s fingers pulled smoothly along the condensation rimming her glass, drifting toward the edge of the table.

“How d’you like my new hired gun, Crabb?” Jaime shifted on his stool to lean back against the bar. “She’s rather slow, I’ll admit. But her face could make the Goat shit himself, so I count it a win.”

And the bitch glared at him. _Glared_.

_Don’t be stupid._

He raised a brow. Her eyes cut through him like steel-blue lasers, and for a moment Jaime was pinned. The rookie cop bored into him as if she could read his turmoil and his anger and his pity and mistrusted it all. He stared back, not quite sure what she wanted. He was saving her from a well-deserved trip downriver, not propositioning her on Tyrion’s favorite street corner.

Her chin tilted infinitesimally. He felt a rush of victory.

_Ridiculous._

“She was in here before you,” the bartender considered slowly. Jaime’s eyes flicked across his face, a careless backhand. Dick moved as nimbly as his name, backing away with arms raised defensively. “Casing the joint, Mr. Lannister, sir. Her being your bodyguard and all.” The lackey stumbled over the family name, and the cop’s sharp, pretty eyes found Jaime’s.

_Do your homework, rookie_. His lips twitched, and he could swear his thoughts teased her ears. She turned irritably to her drink, pantomiming a long pull of her mostly full piss-water.

“I’ll – uh – toss a fly in the Spider’s web.” Nimble Dick disappeared into the cramped office without waiting for affirmation. Heavy thumps drifted out with a muffled curse, and Jaime wondered idly how quickly the man could slip through a crack.

“Vice?” he asked after an appropriate lull.

The girl started, torn from her mental assessment of escape routes. Her options were more than limited: there was only one exit.

He catalogued her appearance from her scuffed hiking boots to her frizzy, sweet corn hair. If the Starks were desperate enough to think their daughter went working girl, this bear in a plain brown wrapper wasn’t the plant Vice would send.

“No.” He grinned at the bee stings beneath her jacket, trying to unsettle her. Her newfound poker face might’ve come in handy when she was questioning Nimble Dick. “You’re not a narc either. Kidnapping?” he guessed. “I’d say homicide but– ”

“She’s not dead,” the woman hissed, pushing to her feet.

“Likely not,” Jaime agreed, staring up at her. God, she really was taller than him. “The last time I saw Sansa Stark she was batting her eyes at my nephew as he dropped dead on the dinner table.”

The rookie bit her lip, torn between eagerness and affront. His mouth moved to mimic her, and he caught the motion in a knowing look.

“How long was it before someone noticed her missing? Does she have any contacts in the other families? Does your sister think she – ” she cut off, unable to assign so bloody a word as _‘murdered’_ to her charge.  

Jaime would have laughed if he didn’t feel so goaded. “I’m not turning state, Five-0, so you can shove that shtick about asylum back up your ass.”

Her mouth snapped shut around a grimace. The expression made her look even uglier, mashing her broad face toward her nose like someone had pulled a zipper from her lips to her brow. She glanced around as if Dick were still around to hear. The fink was likely halfway to the precinct by now, jonesing to cut a deal with the city’s finest.

“Then why– ?” For half a second, she looked more innocent than Sansa Stark.

His leonine, Lannister grin went no further than the sharp line of his teeth. Cersei flashed before his eyes, clutching her son’s body and screeching for their little brother’s head.

_Because finding her means finding Tyrion._

_Because that girl doesn’t deserve what my sister will do to her._

_Because you’re too ugly and stupid to make it past the door._

Jaime shrugged, shoving off the bar. The rookie’s fingers flinched toward her firearm, but she coaxed her hand away, keeping her piece hidden through sheer, dumb tenacity.

He bet she could use it, too.

An irreverent smile leapt to his lips. “I used to dream of rescuing damsels in distress.” His damsel had been fairer and fouler and much less real, but his bitterness was losing its edge.

“Sansa– ” she started. Her words fled as he sauntered closer, edging past invisible walls. She didn’t back away, even when his loafers knocked her boots to invade her stance.

_She’s not frightened_ , he realized. Her eyes were calm, her body warm and solid. The novelty of it melted the harshness from her features, iron ore dripping down his intentions to soften his perceptions.

Which one of them wanted a way out?

“Maybe I dreamed of _you_.” He gestured her around the bar, kicking aside a rug to reveal a door.

_A Spider’s web or a Lion’s den?_ Answers waited either way.

“Follow me.”

And she did.

**Author's Note:**

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